It Ends Here Tonight
by Dramatic Surgeon
Summary: Not all nightmares are harmless.  No slash.
1. Heat Wave

**I hadn't planned to ever revisit the theme of my previous fanfic, but I saw a screencap video on YouTube titled "Hawkeye's Nightmare" that just asked to have a story written. (If you see the video you'll also understand why this story has the title it does--and even a few of its scenes.)**

**Five seconds to think up, two months to write. **** Reviews are welcome; ****as before, the story itself is finished, but I'd like to see how it will be received before continuing to upload it.  
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* * *

_It was always the heat he noticed first—burning, oppressive, choking the life from him. He could feel himself soaring over the Korean landscape, the world passing beneath him. Casting his gaze downward, he watched a jeep rumble down the dirt road. The glare from the blistering sun made it difficult to see very far. _

_He could see the vehicle's lone occupant shield his eyes from the sun, keeping the other hand on the steering wheel; as hard as he tried, he couldn't make out the man's face. A field kit sat in the seat next to the driver, its red cross standing out in sharp contrast against the dreary backdrop of green and beige. _

_The back of his neck prickled from the heat, and he observed the driver wipe the sweat from his brow. The blue sky and lazily drifting clouds created a tranquil picture; if it wasn't for the medical bag and the distracted, tense mannerisms of the man behind the wheel, it would have been almost serene. _

_All at once, the semi-peaceful scene was thrown into chaos as an explosion scattered the earth in front of the jeep, followed by several more. He watched as the driver steered wildly to avoid the incoming fire. The field kit slid out of the vehicle, spilling its contents onto the ground. Pulling the jeep to the side of the road the man jumped out, trying frantically to take cover. _

_The figure's previously hazy features came sharply into focus. He observed the frightened blue eyes darting around the area and instantly recognized the face of his friend. Horrified, he called out to the man from above, but his voice was lost among the sound of mortars pelting the area._

_A heavy concussion rocked the ground under his friend's feet, throwing him across the road. The jeep burst into flames, sending shrapnel raining down on the area. Within seconds, the vehicle had been reduced to a smoking metal bonfire. The driver's body lay unmoving only feet away._

_His feet hit the hard earth below, and he felt himself running towards his friend lying face-down in the dirt. Dropping to his knees, he felt for a pulse; his hand came back covered in blood. The fire blazing a few yards from him mingled with the scorching heat from the sun, solidifying his vision of Hell. _

_He turned the body over and paled at the sight: blood flowed freely down the man's face, covering it like a wet, crimson blanket. Shrapnel had embedded itself in his left shoulder and arm, tearing open numerous wounds along the way. His friend coughed and blood came up; he knew only too well what that meant. It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before, but this was different—in so many ways._

_Suddenly the eyelids flickered, and light blue orbs peered up to meet his own. "Hawk..." the man began, but coughed harder as blood clogged his windpipe._

"_Don't talk, Beej. Just hang on, you'll be okay," he heard himself say. Staring down at the broken body of his friend, he couldn't remember a time he felt so helpless. No, actually, that wasn't quite true; he remembered the same feeling when he watched his childhood friend die on the table, and again when Radar announced that Henry had been killed. But this time the outcome would be different...it **had** to be different..._

_He peeled back the man's shirt to check for more wounds, but B.J. grabbed his arm and shook his head. "Tell Peg and Erin..." he whispered, trying to catch his breath, "please...tell them..." _

_The words sent a chill through him, and he gripped his friend ferociously. "You can tell them yourself when you get back to Mill Valley," he snapped. "Just hold on, damn it!"_

_B.J. gazed up at him with a quiet expression that told him everything he didn't want to know. "Thanks...Hawk..." he breathed, his eyes already starting to glaze over. "For everything..."_

"_God—B.J.?" He searched for a pulse again with trembling fingers, this time finding none. "No. No, you can't just give up like that, God damn it, it isn't right! Don't leave me here! **B.J.**!"_

"B.J..."

Hawkeye Pierce heard himself murmuring his friend's name as he jerked awake—right before the floor came up to smack him. Wiping the sweat from his forehead he sat up and squinted through bleary eyes at his cot, which he'd fallen out of (again). How loud had he been this time?

He climbed back into bed and gazed at the oddly comforting surroundings of his tent, taking in a ragged breath and trying to calm his frayed nerves. After regaining his composure, he mustered the strength to glance at the bunk next to him.

Evidently he hadn't been as loud as he thought. B.J. Hunnicut was fast asleep, looking as serene and placid as he normally did when he was awake. There was no trace of the injuries Hawkeye had seen in his nightmare.

Breathing a silent sigh of relief, he stood shakily from his cot and settled into the chair next to it. After such a blood-chilling interruption, he knew it was useless to try and go back to sleep. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the sound of B.J.'s steady, regular breathing. He rubbed his face and watched the other man's chest rise and fall, trying to chase away the horrific images lurking at the edges of his mind.

B.J. stirred slightly in his sleep. Goosebumps slowly crawled across his flesh as a feeling of uneasiness invaded his dreams; part of his subconscious mind had the distinct impression he was being watched. An eyelid started to open, then promptly shut again. He turned on his side and muttered something unintelligible, sleep reclaiming him.

After a few seconds his eyes snapped open, then narrowed. It wasn't his imagination: he _was_ being watched.

Bolting upright in his cot, he turned to find Hawkeye sitting in the chair between their beds, gazing steadily at him. "Hawk?" He brushed a hand across his eyes, trying to clear the fog from his brain. In the darkness he couldn't make out much of the other man's features, but Pierce's eyes were living up to their owner's name—boring through him with a glassy, disturbed expression. It reminded him of a scene out of a horror film.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you," Hawkeye responded softly, unable to tear his eyes away. He could still feel the fire from the jeep searing his skin.

"What time is it?" B.J. turned his lamp on, wincing as his pupils adjusted painfully to the light. He fumbled at the watch on his wrist, uncomfortably aware of Pierce's unblinking stare. Forcing his eyes to focus, he squinted at the hands on his watch. "Hawk, it's almost three-thirty," he complained, keeping his voice low so he wouldn't wake their other bunkmate. Glancing briefly at Charles' cot in the opposite side of the tent, he saw the major slumbering in blissful ignorance. "What's the matter?"

Hawkeye opened his mouth to respond, but didn't trust anything that might come out. Instead, he just shook his head and leaned back in the chair, glancing away for the first time.

B.J. regarded him silently for a long minute, noting his pallid skin and dazed expression. "Nightmare?" he asked, not needing an answer. Then, at Pierce's nod, "You wanna talk abou—"

"No," Hawkeye responded immediately, more sharply than he intended. He ran a hand through his already tangled hair, too busy trying to forget the haunting images to talk about them. Besides, what was there to say? What _could_ he say that wouldn't worry his friend? He was frightened enough for them both as it was—there was no point in making B.J. a basket case too. "It's...complicated." They could both hear his exhaustion.

B.J. nodded; he knew better than to pry. "Okay. Just do me a favor, will you? Point those things away from me." He gestured to Pierce's eyes. "You pulled me away from a terrific dinner with Peg and Erin. My first real meal in months...so to speak. Porterhouse steak, baked potato—a lot better than what we'll both be facing in the morning."

Hawkeye started to apologize again, but stopped as words came flooding back to him in B.J.'s voice: _"Tell Peg and Erin...please...tell them..."_ He cringed reflexively and stared hard at the floor, his breathing fast and shallow. Shutting his eyes tightly, he tried to force the whispered voice from his consciousness. Invisible fire made the side of his face tingle.

He glanced up again, and it was B.J.'s turn to stare at him. "You okay?"

_No, _he thought at the same time he replied, "Yeah, I'll be fine. Sorry." He stood from the chair and reached over to turn B.J.'s light off. "See you in a few hours, Beej."

"Uh-huh." B.J. watched Hawkeye listlessly make his way back and lie down, but knew from experience his friend wouldn't be falling asleep any time soon. As he settled back into his own cot, he couldn't get the image of those fear-stricken, troubled eyes out of his mind.

After several minutes of studying the back of his eyelids, he realized he wouldn't be getting back to sleep, either.


	2. Scorcher

**Thank you for the reviews. As always, more are welcome.**

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Daylight crept up silently on the sleeping camp. Hawkeye watched the sun emerge from behind the mountains, casting its rays on the compound below. He hadn't suffered any more nightmares, if only for the simple reason he'd never gone back to sleep. A quick glance in his roommate's direction told him neither had B.J., though they each had done a fair job at pretending. He pulled himself into a sitting position and observed the sky slowly change from a deceptively beautiful orange glow to a washed-out, hazy blue. He could already feel the air getting warmer, and knew they were in for another torrid day.

The squeaking of a cot at the other end of the tent signaled that Charles was awake. The Bostonian sat up with a grunt, wordlessly grabbed his robe and stood from the bed. Coming into Pierce's field of vision he took his towel off the nearby hook, gave the captain a terse nod, and slipped through the door.

"He's always so cheerful in the morning," B.J.'s weary voice sounded from the corner.

"Wait 'till he gets out of the shower. He'll be repulsively chipper," Hawkeye responded absently. Unspoken words hung heavily in the air between them. He stretched painfully, trying to work out a knot in his shoulders, and stood up. "Ready to lose your breakfast?"

"I haven't had any yet," B.J. muttered as he sat up.

"Give it time." The pair changed into semi-fresh clothes and made their way to the mess tent for an equally semi-fresh breakfast. The usual din provided a strange sort of solace for B.J. as he tried to think of ways he might be able to make up for lost sleep during the day. Stopping only to ask Igor—against his better judgment—why his eggs were brown and the hash browns were yellow, he and Pierce found an unoccupied table and sat down

They traded theories as to what the mass of material on their plates had been before it wound up as food, interrupted briefly by a shriek from one of the nurses a few tables away as a roach put on a show in her coffee cup. Through it all, B.J. noticed Pierce was deliberately avoiding his eyes, even when talking directly to him—focusing instead on a point just beyond his head. He found it irritating, but didn't say anything: no doubt it had something to do with last night, and Hawkeye had made it clear it wasn't a subject open for discussion.

There was still five hours left before either of them were expected for their shift, so they took the opportunity to hit the shower and head back to their tent for a card game—using rules only they completely understood.

"That's three tens, so my total is eighty-five," Pierce announced, his wicked grin contrasting sharply with the weariness in his eyes. B.J. grunted and scratched the numbers down on a nearby pad. "I'd be two points ahead if it was Monday," he lamented, wiping sweat from his forehead. The heat wouldn't have been so bad if there was an actual breeze, but it seemed even the wind was too hot to blow.

"Ah, but then you'd need the seven of hearts, which I happen to have it my hot little hand," Hawkeye informed him triumphantly, turning the card around.

"Some guys get all the luck. Maybe we should just go back to chess—at least then I'd have a chance at beating you." B.J. reshuffled the deck as he spoke, gazing out at the compound. Pierce watched him with a quiet, almost grateful expression. Just seeing the man alive and talking was a blessing, and a constant reminder that his nightmare was just that—a nightmare. And nightmares were just irrational fears, created by the mind to work through life's problems, right?

_So why am I still scared_?

B.J. glanced at him and their eyes locked for the first time that day. The connection startled Hawkeye, who quickly turned his gaze away. No matter how comforting his friend's presence was, he couldn't stand to look him in the eyes. Every time he did he remembered watching the life drain from them, gruesomely transforming from their usual bright blue to a chilling, shrouded gray.

B.J. frowned, not sure whether to be concerned or hurt. "Is there a reason you've been avoiding me?" he asked finally.

"I'm not avoiding you. We're playing cards, aren't we?" Pierce responded, fixing his gaze to the cot behind B.J.

"_You're_ playing cards. _I'm_ losing my shirt," B.J. retorted. "And you know what I mean. I wake up to find you staring at me, and today you keep flinching like you're expecting me to break your neck. If I did something wrong, I think I at least have the right to know." He set the deck of cards down and leaned forward, trying to catch the man's eye again.

Instead, Hawkeye gazed stubbornly outside the tent. "You didn't do anything." He stared off into the distance, his expression just as far away. B.J. watched him intently; at that moment he would have gladly given a year's salary to know what his friend was thinking.

Pierce rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Sorry, Beej. I just n...I've got a lot on my mind." He forced himself to look B.J. squarely in the eyes, visibly uncomfortable with the act. "I'll be fine," he added unconvincingly, before turning away again.

B.J. squinted at him in annoyance, but held back his frustration; he knew pushing would only drive the man further away. Holding up his hands in surrender, he said, "Okay, I give. But you know where to find me." A yawn sneaked up on him, so he stood up and headed over to his cot. "Which, for the remaining two hours, will be under the covers." Sinking into the bunk, he gave Hawkeye a contemplative look. "You might wanna get some rest too," he added meaningfully. "You won't get another chance until after your shift."

Hawkeye shook his head, almost vehemently. "Nah, I'm not tired." _Liar_, his mind accused. He swirled the contents of his martini glass, concentrating on the motion.

The same word echoed in B.J.'s mind, but he shrugged it away. "Suit yourself." He settled in and prepared for two hours of glorious sleep.

Ten minutes later, that dream was promptly shattered by the sound of approaching helicopters. A voice sounded over the PA system: "_Attention—attention. Incoming wounded. The winners of today's King of the Hill game are arriving at the helipad. Be sure to give your congratulations to the team captain when the rest of him gets here._"

Pierce set the glass down and stood. "Come on, Beej. We need to get there early if we want good seats."

"No," a stubborn voice came from beneath the blanket. "I just got here. You go ahead, Hawk, I'll sit this dance out."

"I need a partner, and you're the only one who can stand me," Pierce insisted wearily, peeling back the blanket and gently tugging B.J.'s arm. "Let's go."

B.J. grumbled and sat up. "All right, but the next time Truman invites me to a party I'm staying home." He followed Hawkeye out of the tent, wishing he had just stayed in bed—all the way back in Mill Valley.

* * *

The O.R. was quieter than usual, mostly because everyone was just too hot to say or do more than necessary. The lack of ventilation, combined with the necessary protection of heavy sterile scrubs, did nothing to alleviate the situation.

"Colonel, would it be too much to ask the Army—who so joyously sent us on this field trip of the macabre with the alacrity of a galloping war horse—to at least turn down this wretched heat?" Charles asked, turning to his nurse to have his forehead mopped for the umpteenth time. While he would never admit the Winchester family was just as prone to sweating as everyone else, he didn't plan to let that pride get in the way of his operation.

"Pipe down, Major," Colonel Potter replied irritably as he concentrated on suturing the soldier in front of him. "You're not the only one suffering. I've been downing salt tablets like they were candy, and poor Radar's been swimming in his glasses."

"I hope he has enough room in those glasses for two," Pierce remarked, trying to dismiss the itch between his shoulder blades. He scrutinized the body underneath his scalpel, searching for any last tell-tale signs of glinting metal.

"Make that three," B.J. added. "I could use a good swim right now." He'd lost track of how many hours they had been working. He gazed down at his sixth—seventh?—patient of the day, a boy who looked more at home behind a school desk than a rifle.

"Gentlemen, your witty repartee is even less appreciated today than it ever has been," Charles commented acridly. "Kindly keep your inane drivel within the increasingly hollow space between your ears."

"Can someone find some ballast for Charles? He's full of even more hot air than usual," Pierce shot back. "We don't want him floating away."

Charles snorted and glared in his direction. "If my brain wasn't threatening to ooze out through my pupils, Pierce, rest assured you would be receiving a sound thrashing."

"Ah, the thrashing," Pierce began histrionically, pausing only to ask for 3-0 silk. "Second cousin to the whipping, illegitimate half-brother of the shy yet elegant beating, whose mother's frequent trysts with paddling, the bawdy black sheep of the family, were—"

"Can we all just learn to shut up and get on with it?" a loud yet distinctly feminine voice rang out. Major Margaret Houlihan had been working silently next to Pierce, determined to be a good example to the other nurses in the sweltering heat, but was rapidly losing patience. "It's hard enough to breathe in here without you three taking up all the air."

"Sorry, mother," Pierce responded, his tone suggesting otherwise.

Silence descended again. The soft chime of metal hitting metal sounded as B.J. dropped a piece of shrapnel into the dish next to him. "Maybe we should wash that off and put it with his belongings," he told the nurse next to him. "Another one and he can make a pair of earrings for his girlfriend."

"Hell of a way to get a souvenir," Pierce muttered.

"Well, you know kids these days, Hawk, they can't—aw, great." B.J. had been trying to remove a metal fragment next to the patient's artery when blood began spurting from it. A bright red arc shot upward, spraying his face and mask and barely missing his eyes. "Could we get a clamp on that, nurse?" he asked. "I see enough blood as it is without having to wear it."

"Yes, doctor." The nurse handed him a clamp, and he quickly had the flow under control. She wiped a little of the blood from his face, and with a bit of sponging he was able to find the offending shrapnel again.

What he didn't see was Pierce staring straight at him, the scalpel in his hand long forgotten. No one even noticed the man's behavior until Margaret, realizing he had stopped working, glanced up. "Doctor?"

Hawkeye didn't respond, still staring at B.J. Margaret saw his face rapidly turning pale and his breathing getting more ragged. "Are you all right, Pierce?" she asked, alarmed.

This drew the attention of everyone in the room, including B.J. His eyes met his friend's for the second time that day, and what he saw made him freeze.

Even from two tables away he could see that, behind the mask, Pierce's eyes were filled with nothing less than absolute horror.


	3. Languid

**Thank you for the reviews so far. If all goes as planned, a new chapter should be up every day until it's finished.**

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Red and blue. That's all Hawkeye was able see; everything else around him seemed to fade away. He could see B.J. as though peering through a dark tunnel, taking in the crimson streaks running across the man's face and mask. The bright arterial spray only made B.J.'s blue eyes stand out even more—_like targets_, he thought to himself. Visions of a bloodied, mangled body flashed through his mind with the speed and force of a locomotive.

He felt his hands trembling, and his lungs tightened convulsively. Everyone sounded like they were underwater. Somewhere in the back of his mind he vaguely recalled being in the O.R., holding a scalpel over a patient, and instinctively started backing away from the table. He heard the instrument clatter to the floor as someone called out his name, but his gaze was locked on B.J.'s scarlet-soaked mask and worried eyes.

The edges of his vision blurred and he reached out to steady himself. He wasn't sure what (or who) he latched onto, but it didn't work for long. Sinking to his knees he tried desperately to inhale, but the knot in his diaphragm wouldn't let him. Someone in the distance cried out as the world disappeared into oblivion.

* * *

"Pierce!" Potter shouted as the surgeon hit the floor. Margaret had done her best to hold him up, but the dead weight was too much for her. As he fell, she managed to kick the scalpel he'd dropped out of the way. At the colonel's command, two corpsmen arrived and placed Hawkeye onto a litter. "Take him to post-op and keep him as cool as possible," he instructed. As they carried the man out of the O.R., Potter focused his attention on Margaret. "Was he done there, or do you need an extra pair of hands?" he asked.

"He was just about ready to close, Colonel." Margaret struggled to keep her voice steady, a reaction shared by the others in the room. "I can finish."

"Good." Potter sighed and turned his attention back to his work. "Damn heat," he muttered, "taking out my surgeons when I need 'em the most..."

B.J. stared at the door Pierce had just been taken through and tried to bring his own breathing under control. He had seen Hawkeye fading, but realized if he followed his instincts and rushed over, the boy in front of him would have quickly bled to death. He already knew the heat wasn't his friend's problem, but had a feeling it was connected to his earlier behavior. That only made the situation even more puzzling—and frustrating.

Pierce's dramatic departure left the O.R. silent for the next few hours. Even Charles had ceased his sideways remarks; it was obvious everyone simply wanted to finish up and get out of the room as soon as possible.

Removing the last bone shard out of his final patient, B.J. asked his nurse to close the incision for him and headed out. His watch read 9:48 PM. _So much for catching up on sleep today_, he thought. After taking off his scrubs and washing his face, his first stop was post-op to check on Hawkeye.

To his surprise Pierce was sitting up in bed, gesturing animatedly and acting as though nothing had happened. Colonel Potter had finished operating before B.J. and was sitting on a stool next to Pierce, listening to the man talk incessantly about something involving hamburgers. "I see the party started without me," B.J. said with a smile. "How're you doing, Hawk?"

"My ego's still on the floor back there, but I'm fine," Pierce replied. He craned his neck upward to glance briefly at B.J., relieved to find all traces of blood gone from his friend's face. "Sorry to let everyone down. I don't know what happened."

"Yeah, me neither," B.J. remarked, an allusive tone belying his neutral expression. Hawkeye looked away, shifting uncomfortably.

"It's this blasted heat," Potter told them, mopping the back of his neck with a cloth. "It's driving everyone here up the wall. If we don't get a break in the weather soon, we're gonna have to replace the beds with blocks of ice just to give our boys some relief."

"Yeah, I guess so," Hawkeye agreed too quickly, ignoring B.J.'s steady gaze. "Look, uh—I feel better, and it's already night, Colonel. I'm gonna head back for some quality time with the still—it gets lonely when I stay away too long."

Potter nodded. "Lord knows you deserve it after today," he replied, standing up. "I'll trust B.J. here to see you back. As for me, I have a date with a stack of paperwork. The last thing I need is a company clerk tying himself in knots tomorrow morning." Patting Pierce's shoulder, he headed out of post-op towards his office.

B.J. watched Hawkeye silently for a long minute. "Feel like talking now?" he asked finally.

_You have no idea,_ Pierce thought, gazing at the floor. The truth was, he had wanted to tell B.J. everything for days. He was tired of keeping it all in, running from the fear that stalked him in his friend's eyes.

At the same time, he knew no one should have to experience the nightmare he had been living through for God knows how long—at this point he couldn't remember when it had started. Every night it was getting worse, until he couldn't even tell it was a dream when he woke up. It robbed him of sleep, of peace...

_Of sanity,_ he finished silently, closing his eyes. _And now it's night again. _

B.J. took his reaction as an answer and sighed. "All right. Let's go home." He helped Hawkeye to his feet, and the pair exited post-op into the warm night air. Watching Pierce's tense, guarded posture as they walked, he realized the man bore a striking resemblance to an animal ready to bolt. The frown lingering on his face deepened.

Once inside their tent, like a well-rehearsed play they each slipped into their robes, sat down with a glass from the still and tried to forget the day's events. Pierce drained the contents of his glass without even looking at it.

"Maybe you should get to bed early tonight," B.J. suggested gently. "You look like you could use the sleep."

"I'm not tired," Hawkeye replied defensively, refilling his glass. B.J. kept silent, noting the increasingly dark circles under the man's eyes.

Charles entered some time later, pausing just long enough to suggest a more "constructive" use for their still concerning the camp garbage dump, before taking his boots off and lying down. After a moment of thought, he glanced at Pierce. "I trust you are adequately recovered?" he asked, the usual trace of haughtiness absent from his tone.

"Yeah...yeah, I'm great," Hawkeye responded, his expression unreadable. Charles wasn't convinced, but he nodded and turned his lamp off; he was used to Pierce's various mood swings by now and assumed this was one of them. Within minutes a gentle snore sounded from his side of the tent.

The other two men lay on their beds, each lost in their own thoughts, until the quiet _clink _of a glass scraping the floor pulled B.J. from his reverie. He glanced up to find Hawkeye asleep on his cot, his hand still clutching the empty glass. _Like hell he isn't tired, _he thought with a bemused smile. After waking up to Pierce's eerie, guilt-ridden stare the night before, this was a far more welcome sight.

Standing from his bunk, he took the empty glass and placed it next to his own on the still. His own eyelids were starting to close by themselves, so he covered his friend with a blanket, shrugged out of his robe and headed back to his corner of the tent. He took a final look at Hawkeye before drifting off, hoping that whatever was bothering the man would disappear with a decent night's sleep.


	4. Night Sweats

**Thank you to all who have reviewed my work so far. As always, more are welcome. (For those keeping track, this is the first chapter that features a line from the video I mentioned at the beginning of the fanfic.)  
**

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"Beej..." 

A fast-asleep B.J. answered with a sound that made sense only to him. Silence descended on the tent again, and he slipped easily back into his dream.

"B.J..."

Hawkeye's quiet but insistent voice roused him. "Yeah, Hawk?" Nothing. Figuring he'd imagined it, he shifted in bed and dozed off again.

"B.J." The voice was more urgent this time. Irritated, B.J. turned over and peered through half-closed eyes into the darkness. "What is it?" he murmured, sleep entwined in his words.

Silence again.

B.J. struggled into a sitting position, rubbing his face. _If this is a game, I'm gonna kill him, _he thought in annoyance.

"_No!_" Hawkeye's voice was charged with panic, startling B.J. All traces of weariness gone, he turned on his lamp and and immediately went over to his friend's bunk. A flood of light from the opposite end of the tent told him Charles had awakened as well.

Pierce's eyes were squeezed shut. His neck muscles were painfully taut, his breathing rapid and erratic. The anguished cry that escaped his lips was chilling. Worried, B.J. shook him. "Hawk, wake up!"

It took a few tries to get Hawkeye to respond. The man's eyes opened suddenly, and he sat up like a shot. He grabbed B.J.'s arms and held on ferociously, with terrifying desperation. "B.J.!" he gasped. "Don't die on me, you can't do this—it isn't right! Don't leave me here!"

B.J. stared at him, confused. The man's eyes were wide and glassy as he babbled; his fingers were digging into B.J.'s flesh, cutting off the circulation. It took him a second to realize Hawkeye wasn't actually awake. He wasn't sure what bothered him more—the spooky, unfocused stare or the disturbing words coming from his friend's mouth. Firmly gripping Pierce's shoulders, he commanded, "Hawk, look at me." Hawkeye stopped rambling, but there was no change in his demeanor.

B.J. tried again. "Look at me," he said more forcefully, shaking him gently for emphasis. Pierce's disoriented gaze slowly focused on him. "I'm all right. Can you hear me? Everything's okay."

Hawkeye blinked dazedly as his friend gradually morphed from a cold, bloodless corpse into the man sitting before him...quite alive. His fingers slightly loosened their hold on B.J.'s arms as his brain fought to keep up. "Beej?" B.J. nodded silently.

Pierce swallowed hard and released his grip, shaking. B.J. kept a hand on his arm to help steady him. Glancing down at his own arms, he took note of the red marks where the circulation was slowly returning. He briefly peered over at Charles, whose face had paled considerably.

"God," Pierce whispered hoarsely, burying his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, Beej."

B.J. watched him quietly for a minute, waiting for the tremors to subside. When his friend had managed to compose himself, he removed his hand. "Is this why you were staring at me last night?" he asked. Hawkeye nodded, his face still hidden. "And why you fainted today?" Another nod. B.J. gazed at the floor, a little stunned. "Well, it...would explain a few things, I guess." He mulled over his friend's strange behavior, thinking back over the past several days. Suddenly, a thought struck him: "How long has this been going on?"

Pierce finally removed his hands from his face. "I've lost track," he replied dully. "At least a week—probably longer by now."

B.J. bit his lip. _God, Hawk... _"Why didn't you say anything?"

Hawkeye observed him wearily. "Because I didn't want you looking at me the way you are right now." He shifted in the cot to fully face his friend. "I've never had a recurring dream this realistic before," he admitted. "Do you have any idea what it feels like watching your best friend die every night, only to get up the next morning and work side-by-side with him?"

His voice cracked as he spoke, and B.J. could sense the despair framing his words. "I think you almost have to tell me about it now," he commented. He heard a soft click behind him as Charles quietly turned his lamp off. Closing his eyes momentarily, he was grateful for the silent message: the major was going to let him handle things his way, without interference. "It might help."

_I doubt it, _Hawkeye thought to himself, but the hopeful look in his friend's eyes made it impossible to refuse. Besides, there wasn't much to hide now. Slowly, he related the dream to B.J., leaving out the more disturbing parts. By the time he was done, he was glad he held back: the man's face had turned ashen, looking away once to suppress a shudder. "I'm sorry, Beej," he finished sincerely. "You weren't supposed to find out."

"It's just a dream, Hawk," B.J. told him with a smile, trying to push away the unsettling images Pierce's description had conjured in his mind. "A nightmare, sure, but that's all. It's just like the childhood friends you were dreaming of before, and nothing ever happened to them. They're all fine."

"They're not over here," Hawkeye countered softly.

B.J. had no answer to that. The risks that came part and parcel with being a stone's throw from the front lines were rarely mentioned between them, or even acknowledged. Their lighthearted banter and homemade gin played a large role in helping them forget just where they were, making even harmless nightmares an unwelcome hiccup in the illusion. The two men gazed at each other silently, mutual fear electrifying the space between them.

"Do you think you can get back to sleep?" B.J. asked after a moment.

"I'll try," Hawkeye replied tiredly. They both could hear the unspoken words: _but it won't work_. "Just promise me something."

"Yeah?"

"If you leave camp—I mean, _anywhere _outside the camp—just let me know first, okay?" Pierce stared hard at B.J. as he spoke. He knew how crazy the request seemed; in the hectic pace of a MASH unit, one could hardly expect to keep tabs on someone else every second of the day. He was also counting on his friend to understand.

"Sure, Hawk," B.J. agreed. He squeezed the man's elbow reassuringly and stood up, trying (and failing) to hide how badly Pierce's episode had shaken him.

Exhausted, he stumbled back to his own bunk, turned the light off and lay down again. As he leaned back, his fingers unconsciously brushed the metal frame holding a photo of his wife and daughter. The action moved the frame slightly, just enough to catch a faint light streaming in from the compound.

From his corner of the tent, Hawkeye watched the faces of B.J.'s family smiling in the dark. All of a sudden, Korea seemed frighteningly more real.


	5. And Call Me In the Morning

**Thank you for the reviews so far. More are always welcome.**

* * *

The heat arrived just before the sun did, quickly squelching all hope of a bearable day. Ever-present haze and muggy air blanketed the area, which made breathing difficult—let alone anything actually coming close to work. Thankfully, any casualties that might have come in were being routed to the nearby 8063rd until a few beds from post-op could be cleared. That meant any energy left over after eating and showering could be wisely spent seeking opportunities to stay cool...no matter how far and few in between. 

B.J. didn't tell anyone what had happened the night before. He didn't have to; as with any microcosm, news of Pierce's outburst had spread like wildfire throughout the camp. By mid-morning, Colonel Potter was in his office being filled in on the details by Radar. He sipped his coffee and signed the morning reports as the corporal spoke, realizing with a twinge of concern that Hawkeye's detour to the O.R. floor may have been caused by more than the heat. Draining the last of his cup, he instructed Radar to place a call; hours later, a man arrived at the camp in a dusty jeep and Potter went out to meet him.

"Good to see you again, Sidney," he said amiably, shaking the man's hand. "Thanks for coming so quickly."

"Well, I happened to be in the neighborhood," Sidney Freedman replied with a smile. "Besides, Colonel, I almost consider this a break. When the weather gets this hot, tempers flare and business tends to pick up. It's nice to get away for a while."

"I only wish the circumstances were better." Potter pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the beads of sweat from his face. "Seems Pierce has been having a rough time of it lately. He hasn't said anything, but from the way he's been acting I'd say it's been going on for a while—he even passed out during surgery yesterday. Apparently he woke up half the camp last night, ranting at B.J. about something."

Sidney nodded thoughtfully as Potter went on. "The VIP tent is currently occupied by a few of the spill-over patients, but Winchester and Hunnicut are on duty so their tent should be empty. I'll track down Pierce and send him your way."

"I'll be ready," Sidney said and started across the camp, stopping briefly as Potter called out behind him, "Good luck—I know how stubborn the man can be."

* * *

When Hawkeye exited the mess tent after what was loosely labeled "lunch", he saw Colonel Potter headed in his direction and immediately sensed he wasn't going to like what the man had to say. He was right. The colonel announced someone was waiting for him, so he trudged back to his tent with a fair idea of who it was. 

Stepping through the door he found Sidney sitting next to the still with a glass of freshly brewed gin, poring over some notes. Pierce looked heavenward. "Whaddaya know, I was right twice in five minutes," he murmured. "I hope my pride can withstand the swelling."

Sidney glanced up. "Hello, Hawkeye." He lifted his glass. "Hope you don't mind—I took the liberty."

"No, be my guest," Pierce responded. "In fact, I'll join you—it's half past two anyway, and my liver complains when I don't deliver on time." He poured a drink and sat down on his cot, watching the other man a bit warily.

Sidney observed Pierce with a clinical eye, taking in the haggard features and sallow complexion. Colonel Potter was right: this _had _been going on for a while.

"I assume this isn't a social call," Pierce's voice broke into his thoughts. "Otherwise this conversation would be taking place at night across a poker table, as I took a third of your week's pay by way of a full house."

"Well, I heard you had a little trouble last night, and thought I'd drop by," Sidney answered, purposely keeping his tone neutral.

Pierce rolled his eyes. "News travels fast, but across all of Korea in half a day?" he asked. "That's gotta be a record. I didn't realize the Army paid so much attention to my idiosyncrasies."

"The Army didn't send me, Hawkeye. Colonel Potter just thought you might want someone to talk to."

"No, thanks," Pierce responded petulantly. "I already talked plenty to B.J., and look what happened."

Sidney set his glass down. "Yes, they tell me you were speaking rather loudly to B.J. last night."

"If by 'speaking' you mean 'babbling incoherently and scaring the hell outta him', you're close." Pierce stared aimlessly outside the tent for a long time, clearly struggling with something. Sidney waited silently, having seen such internal conflict countless times before.

The surgeon finally spoke, his gaze still fixed on the compound outside. "Been having nightmares again, Sidney," he admitted, "although you probably guessed that. Only this time it's the same one—every night. No matter what I do, I can't get rid of it...can't change it, just...relive it." He rubbed his eyes tiredly, ignoring the heat that was dancing across the back of his neck.

Sidney watched him carefully, picking up the non-verbal cues along with the man's words. "I take it this nightmare has kept you awake for some time, unless you've been painting those circles under your eyes."

"You don't know the half of it." Hawkeye's gaze shifted involuntarily to B.J.'s cot, and Sidney began piecing things together. "Your dream wouldn't happen to include B.J., would it?"

"Include him?" Pierce snorted. "He stars in every gory minute of it." He gave the psychiatrist an abbreviated version of what he'd told B.J., deliberately skimming over the details—which didn't escape Sidney's notice. The man's face grew noticeably whiter as he recounted the events, and by the time he finished he'd broken into a sweat that had nothing to do with the heat.

"I can see why that would trouble you," Sidney said after a moment.

"That isn't it," Hawkeye replied, nervously rubbing his shoulder as he stared at the floor. "I mean, I could've handled it if it only happened once. I know I'd be over it by now. But it's _every night, _Sidney. I swear it keeps getting more realistic each time. At least I used to wake up quietly and know it was a dream—now I wake up everyone in the camp, and Beej is standing over my bed trying to convince me he's not dead!" He glanced up, exasperated. "What happened to me? I thought I was over this."

"Don't beat yourself up over it, Hawkeye—this place is enough to cause more than nightmares. What you're describing is nothing new. It sounds very much like the dreams you were having of your friends back in Crabapple Cove. Your mind's still looking looking for a way out of this chaos, but the war keeps finding you."

Hawkeye shook his head. "No, no. You said I was dreaming of my childhood back home because I wanted to remember a more innocent time. There's absolutely nothing innocent about this place."

"Are you sure?" Sidney countered. "Tell me, what do you think of B.J.?"

"Think of him?" Pierce thought for a moment. "He's one hell of a surgeon, a prankster to an almost diabolical degree, the most devoted family man you'll ever meet, and disgustingly decent. He also happens to be my best friend."

"And would you say his presence has been a type of stabilizing influence in your life since he came here?"

Pierce blinked at him, speechless. Sidney continued, "With everything you just said, it sounds like you admire him a great deal. He also has a form of stability you lack in the shape of his family. Men like him can easily be torn apart in this place. It could be that some part of you feels protective towards him, and you're afraid of losing such a calming presence in your life."

Hawkeye glanced down at the floor, deep in thought. There was a ring of truth to what the man was saying. He'd never given a second thought to just how much he had come to rely on B.J.'s quiet compassion and more rational approach to the insanity around them—his friend had certainly never called attention to it. The more he thought back to all the times B.J. had talked him out of a potentially dangerous course of action, or listened to his pointless tirades with an understanding smile, the more aware he became of the protectiveness Freedman was referring to.

Sidney watched his words sink in. The surgeon inhaled deeply and gave him a worn smile. "You're very good at what you do, you know that?"

"That's what they tell me, but I never listen to rumors," Sidney responded modestly, returning Hawkeye's smile.

* * *

B.J. had just left his shift in post-op and was headed for a quick bite when Potter's voice halted him in his tracks. "What can I do for you, Colonel?" 

"Bad news, I'm afraid," Potter replied. His serious tone caught B.J.'s full attention, who immediately lost any appetite he might have had. "One of the patients?" he asked.

The colonel shook his head. "Not one of ours, no. But I just got off the phone with the 8063rd. They've been taking the majority of today's casualties and are in desperate need of another pair of hands—preferably a surgeon's."

B.J. didn't like where this was going. "I see..."

"Look, son—I know it's hotter than an oven out here, that you just came from your shift, and that it's Pierce's turn to go, but he's talking to Sidney in your tent at the moment." Potter ignored B.J.'s surprised reaction as he continued, "Their C.O. made it clear they need someone pronto. That's why I'm asking you to head out ASAP." His voice was subdued, but B.J. knew the comment wasn't a suggestion.

"All right, Colonel," he agreed reluctantly. "Just give me a few minutes and I'll get ready." He started to head towards his tent, but Potter stopped him. "Now means now, B.J.," he said. "I've already got a jeep warming up, and the 8063rd has patients lining up around the block for your magic fingers. Whatever casualties they don't have room for will be spilling over here soon enough, so the faster you leave, the better. Radar's gone to the supply tent to get what you'll need." His hand gently clapped B.J.'s shoulder, and he offered a sympathetic smile. "See? We're doing the hard part. All you have to do is get there."

"Somehow that doesn't make this any easier," B.J. told him, unable to keep the disgruntled tone out of his voice. He peered across the compound; through the haze, he could just make out the figures of Hawkeye and another man—Sidney, he assumed—in his tent. A pang of guilt shot through him as he remembered his promise last night. _If you leave camp... _

Radar came running up to him with a medical kit. "Here you go, sir," he wheezed, closely followed by the jeep Potter had mentioned. B.J. sighed resignedly. _Sorry, Hawk, _he thought. _I'll make it up to you when I get back. _He sat behind the wheel and slid the field kit into the seat next to him. From the corner of his eye he saw Radar glance up at the sky, and knew what was coming next.

Colonel Potter knew it, too. "Damn," he grunted, "they must be getting inundated over there." Turning back to B.J., he said, "I wish I could see you off properly, but we're about to get a few visitors here ourselves. Be safe." B.J. nodded and drove out of the camp, leaving the sound of Radar's voice and approaching choppers behind.


	6. Mirage

**Thank you for the reviews so far; I always welcome more.**

* * *

Hawkeye was busy regaling Sidney with the story of a particularly clever practical joke recently played on Charles—"his ears were blue for a week," he chuckled—when he heard Radar scrambling throughout the compound, yelling "Choppers!" A few seconds later, the corporal knocked outside the tent. "Choppers, Hawkeye," he said.

"The tent isn't soundproof, Radar," Pierce replied testily. "I could hear the sweet, harmonic tones of your sultry voice from the other side of the camp." Radar scoffed and moved on, leaving Pierce to gaze at Sidney with a weary expression. He poured the contents of his glass back into the pitcher and stood up. "Well, boys and girls, it's showtime. Brought to you in magnificent technicolor—as long as the only color you want to see is red."

Sidney glanced down at the floor for a moment before draining his own glass. He coughed as it went down, trying to figure out how Hawkeye managed to do it without flinching. "Think you could use a hand in triage?" he managed to get out.

"Sure, why not? Surgery loves company. Just don't expect me to share my fee with you." Pierce held the door open for Sidney and the pair seamlessly entered into the choreographed confusion, apparently conducted by the announcement blaring out over the PA.

Along the way Hawkeye saw Winchester emerge from the surgical tent, and automatically started scanning the area for B.J. "Charles, where's Beej?" he called out. The major's response was lost in the noise, but his expression clearly indicated he didn't know. Pierce jogged ahead to catch up to Corporal O'Reilly and grabbed hold of his arm. "Radar, go find B.J.," he panted. "Tell him this is no time to play hide and seek!"

"I can't do that, sir, he just left," Radar informed him, freeing his arm. He started to run ahead again, but Hawkeye suddenly latched onto him with a talon-like grip, causing the boy to yelp in surprise. Despite the oppressive heat, every blood cell in Pierce's body had run cold. "He left? Left _where_?!"

"The 8063rd!" Radar replied defensively, trying to extricate himself from Pierce's iron grasp with indignation. "They needed a surgeon and you were busy, so Colonel Potter sent him instead!"

Pierce didn't realize how forcefully he was holding onto Radar until he heard Sidney's quiet voice behind him. "Hawkeye..." He let go of the corporal's arm. "When did he leave?" he demanded, a vague sense of dread spreading in the pit of his stomach.

"A couple minutes ago," Radar answered, clearly frightened by Hawkeye's demeanor. Pierce shook his head to clear it. _This isn't happening_, he tried to tell himself. He felt a tightness in his chest again, and fought back the terror starting to set in. His vision began to swim; suddenly Radar was the one holding onto _him, _with Sidney on the other side for support.

"Hawkeye?" Radar held him upright, glancing at Sidney with a puzzled expression. The psychiatrist didn't say anything; he was quite aware of the cause behind the man's behavior.

Pierce grit his teeth and forced himself to breathe. "Radar," he whispered in a strangled voice, "get one of the choppers ready. I have to go."

Radar stared at him fearfully. "I can't do that, Hawkeye, the colonel will kill me! We need you here! Besides, you don't look like you cou—"

"Just get the damn chopper ready!" Pierce snapped, finding his breath—and his strength—again. Radar didn't budge, frozen by indecision.

Fear and urgency driving his body, Pierce shoved him roughly towards the helipad, causing the boy to stumble. "_Go, Radar_!" With a confused, shaken look in Sidney's direction, Radar ran in the direction he was instructed.

Sidney could see the wheels turning in Pierce's mind. "Do you really want to risk court-martial on a dream, Hawkeye?" he asked. "Just because y—"

Hawkeye pointed at him in a warning gesture. "_Don't_, Sidney! If I'm wrong I'll gladly pay for it, but—" he stopped, unable to finish the sentence. Sidney saw the look in the man's eyes, and it became abundantly clear no amount of reasoning was going to stop him.

Pierce turned abruptly and ran past the stream of incoming wounded, guilt running through him with each passing face. Radar was right—he _was _needed here. But if he stopped (or even slowed down) to help, he didn't want to consider the alternative.

Arriving at the helipad, he saw Radar motioning him over to a chopper. The pilot at the controls popped his head out. "Not often I get requests!" he yelled over the roar of the engine. Hawkeye didn't answer, ignoring the stares from the other personnel as he climbed into the empty seat—stopping to give Radar an apologetic glance. The corporal nodded to let him know all was forgiven, confusion still clouding his eyes.

"Where to?" the pilot asked.

"Take me over whatever road a man would drive to the 8063rd these days, and step on it," Hawkeye responded urgently. A thought struck him, and before the pilot took off he waved Radar back over. "I need a favor," he shouted over the noise. "Get an ambulance as soon as you can—send them on whatever route B.J. took!" The boy opened his mouth to respond, but Pierce cut him off. "Don't argue, Radar, there's no time!" He signaled for the pilot to take off, locking eyes with the corporal as they lifted from the ground. _Please, Radar, _he implored silently. _Please don't fail me_.

The camp below disappeared as the chopper rose higher in the air, and Hawkeye turned his attention to the forest beyond. The sun burned relentlessly through the windshield; he wiped the sweat out of his eyes as he scanned the area. It was difficult to fathom how he could be so hot when his blood felt so cold.

* * *

The steady vibration of the jeep beneath B.J., combined with the sticky heat and lack of sleep, only added to his fatigue. He blinked rapidly, trying to stay focused on the road. A helicopter flew overhead towards the 4077th, a taste of the things awaiting him at the other MASH unit. The images Hawkeye's nightmare had created in the back of his mind lingered menacingly, but he pushed them away. He knew the 8063rd wouldn't have asked for assistance if they didn't need it, so he had to do his best not to arrive a nervous wreck.

A few minutes later, he heard another helicopter flying above him, much closer than the others. He glanced up momentarily, puzzled; why would a chopper be flying a patient back _from_ the 4077th? A bump caused him to quickly turn his attention back to the road ahead, and he soon forgot the approaching noise.

Above him, Hawkeye was intently searching the area. He felt the sun beating down on the back of his neck as the Korean landscape sped by underneath. A jeep came into view, and without looking he knew it was B.J. "Can you bring me in closer?" he asked the pilot, who looked at him like he was crazy—which, the surgeon noted, probably wasn't far off. Still, as requested, the chopper flew a little closer to the open stretch of road and he could see his friend's figure more clearly.

B.J. wiped his brow, wishing the wind blowing past his face was at least a degree or two cooler than a dragon's breath. The sky beyond was a stunning shade of blue, leaving him to wonder what it looked like back home. Suddenly, the deafening noise of a helicopter broke into his thoughts, fighting with the roar of the jeep's engine. He looked up again and saw the chopper hovering nearby, much closer than before. _What the hell...? _

Pierce watched the vehicle rumbling down the road, and doubt crept into his mind. Nothing was happening. No shelling...nothing.

Another minute passed—still nothing.

Relief flooded through him. He leaned back in the helicopter, his heartbeat slowing to a normal pace. B.J. was fine; other than being too hot for comfort, the scene below was quiet and peaceful. He'd never been so happy to be wrong.

The adrenaline rush gradually left his system, and he turned to find the chopper pilot still staring at him oddly. "I'm sorry, pal," he told the man sincerely. "I thought...nevermind, it doesn't matter what I thought. Let's head back." The pilot nodded, and pulled the helicopter up. Hawkeye sighed, wondering how he was going to explain this to the colonel.

Then the road exploded beneath them.


	7. Deja Vu

**Thank you for reading the story this far. Reviews are welcome.**

* * *

Hawkeye's heart leaped into his throat as he gripped the side of the helicopter. He saw B.J. swerve to miss the flying earth in front of him. Another mortar landed directly behind the jeep; the sound seemed to roll through the hillside forever. Like viewing an old movie reel, he watched—paralyzed—as the man steered the vehicle to the side of the road and jumped out, the field kit dumping its contents onto the ground as it fell. 

He felt the chopper pulling away and turned to find the pilot trying to fly out of the path of the shelling. "What are you doing?!" he shouted. "I have to get down there!" He fumbled next to his seat for the emergency rope.

"Are you _nuts_?" the pilot yelled back. "I'm trying to get us out of here—you'll be killed if you go down now!"

Pierce yanked on the rope and let it down the side of the helicopter, but the pilot grabbed his shirt. "I'm telling you, you can't go down there!" he insisted. "We're gonna get hit if I don't leave!" Pierce tore the man's arm away from him. "Look, I'm going down there if I have to jump out! Get me down, _now!_"

Something in his eyes frightened the pilot, who grimaced as he flew the helicopter lower to the ground. Hawkeye grabbed the rope and started down. He didn't have to see the scene unfolding before him; by now, he knew it by heart.

Unaware of the movement above, B.J. ducked behind the jeep, trying desperately to determine which way the shelling was coming from. If he could just figure it out, he would know where to run.

A moment later, he didn't have to wonder. A mortar found its way to the jeep, blowing it up and sending him sprawling across the road. Hot metal seared his skin as fragments buried themselves in his body. He saw the ground rushing towards him...then nothing.

* * *

The second Hawkeye reached the ground the helicopter sped off, back towards the 4077th. He ran, already knowing what he would find. The fire from the jeep was almost unbearable, choking the air from his lungs. 

He dropped to his knees next to B.J., gently turning him over. It was all there: the blood, the wounds down the man's arm...everything. _Only this time I can't wake up_. "God, Beej..."

B.J.'s eyes fluttered opened and locked their gaze on the man kneeling over him. "Hawk..." He coughed harshly, trying to clear the blood from his windpipe.

_No, no, **no**, damn it, this isn't happening, this isn't real! _"Don't talk, Beej. Just hang on, you'll be okay," Hawkeye heard the words leave his mouth like he had done every night the past week. He held B.J. numbly, checking the shrapnel wounds down his arm. He didn't even notice the shelling subside as his mind raced to find a way to break the terrible cycle. He could think more clearly, if only the fire wasn't so _hot_...

He hesitantly tugged B.J.'s shirt away from his skin to survey the damage to the man's chest, but B.J. grabbed his arm and shook his head. _Don't say it, _Hawkeye pleaded silently, _just don't— _

"Tell Peg and Erin..." B.J. whispered hoarsely. "Please...tell them..."

Pierce's grip tightened. "You can tell them yourself when you get back to Mill Valley!" he growled, surprised at the savage tone in his voice. "Just hold on, damn it!" With every word, he could see and hear his dream playing out in front of him. Why wasn't there a way to stop it?

B.J. gazed up at him silently. He observed the horror in the man's eyes, and realized they were reliving the nightmare Hawkeye had shared the night before. _I'm sorry, Hawk...it was never supposed to come true. _In spite of the heat, a peculiar coldness crept over him. Everything around his friend's face was slowly dimming; he wasn't sure if it was shock setting in, or something more.

Hawkeye saw the change in B.J.'s eyes, and knew far too well what was coming next. In the course of a single second, images collided like a train wreck in his mind: standing next to B.J.'s casket, delivering the eulogy; explaining to Peg why he couldn't save her husband; telling Erin stories about her father so she wouldn't forget him.

Living out the rest of the war in Korea...alone.

Adrenaline surged through his system, and his hand shot towards the most visible wound. With a strength driven by desperation he pressed down to forcibly stop the flow of blood, causing B.J. to cry out. "You listen to me, B.J. Hunnicut," he started softly, his voice intensifying at every word. "You're not gonna die here. You're going to die at home, decades from now, surrounded by your loving grandchildren as you tell them how you made it out of here. And you _will _make it out of here, if I have to follow you up or down to whichever place you're headed and drag you back here, _kicking and screaming!_ You understand me?!"

As he spoke, he could hear the unmistakable sound of an ambulance in the distance approaching rapidly. _God bless you, Radar, _he thought to himself. _When this is all over I'm going to give you the biggest hug you've ever had—I'll even hug your bear. _

Breathing raggedly, B.J. watched the parade of emotions flit across Pierce's face. The man's eyes were tenaciously holding his gaze with an almost tangible fierceness, making it physically impossible to look away. Drawing from his friend's willpower, he put every ounce of energy into staying conscious, trying hard to keep the darkness at bay. They stared at each other wordlessly until the ambulance arrived, and Hawkeye did what he had rarely ever done before landing in Korea.

He prayed.


	8. Embers

**Thank you to all who have been reading my story. Reviews are always welcome. (For those keeping track, this is the other chapter that features a line**—**or part of one**—**from the video I mentioned at the beginning of the fanfic.)**

* * *

Colonel Potter was finishing an operation in the O.R. when he heard Pierce had returned. The first thing that came to mind was the string of curse words he had been knitting together in his mind to hurl at the man when he came in, accompanied by the various punishments he had dreamed up to ensure the wayward surgeon never tried something so infantile again. 

Then he heard about B.J., and the entire room skidded to a halt.

"Someone close for me, damn it," Potter barked, ripping off his gloves. "I'm going to see what kind of trouble B.J.'s gotten himself into this time." He raced out of the room and through the surgical tent doors into the compound, a knot starting to form in his stomach.

A single look at B.J. as he was unloaded from the ambulance, followed immediately by a dirt-smeared, haggard Pierce with his hand clamped on B.J.'s chest, chanting "hang in there Beej, don't you dare leave me, just stay with it" told him _exactly _what kind of trouble the man was in. "Pierce—what in blazes happened out there?!"

Hawkeye didn't dare turn in the colonel's direction—he had the sickening feeling if he tore his gaze away from B.J.'s eyes for a second, he would look back to find those eyes closed permanently. "Long story," he mumbled distantly as he kept stride with the two medics carrying the litter into pre-op. "His jeep blew up. Lot of shrapnel...hemothorax. One visible humerus fracture, probably more..."

Potter stopped the stretcher for a second to examine the wounds himself. "All right, let's keep that hole plugged. We'll get a table started right away." Turning to a corpsman watching the scene, he said, "Take over for Pierce and get him prepped." The corpsman hurried over, but Hawkeye didn't move.

The colonel tugged his arm, lightly but with urgency. "Pierce, you won't do him any good standing out here with your hand in his gut. Let's get going."

"I'm not letting go until _after _he's prepped," Hawkeye replied tightly, never breaking eye contact with his friend. Potter looked at B.J.'s colorless face and knew precious seconds were being lost, so he waved the corpsman away. "Fine, but we need to do it now. Let's move, people!" As B.J. was rushed inside, the colonel caught sight of Sidney in the crowd; the psychiatrist looked stunned. They briefly exchanged worried glances before Potter followed the litter inside.

Hawkeye had long ago lost the feeling in his hand from pressing so hard, but true to his word, he didn't let go until a sterile dressing could be placed over the chest wound. By that point it had cramped so badly he needed a nurse to help him remove it. Someone had the presence of mind to tie a mask around his face as he helped move B.J. into the crowded—yet strangely silent—O.R.

Through it all, his eyes never strayed from B.J.'s . He recognized the man's expression—it was the look many of his patients had come in with before, who had already begun to move on. He gripped B.J.'s hand tightly and held back a scream of frustration. "Let's _go_, already!" he yelled impatiently. "We need that chest wound closed!"

B.J. saw the terror in Pierce's eyes, but not much else; everything was too blurry. He had felt oddly disconnected from his surroundings ever since he was loaded into the ambulance. The medical part of his brain realized how dangerous that was, but he was too cold and tired to pull himself out of it. The only thing keeping him awake was the insistent, hawk-like gaze of his friend. _How fitting, _he thought with a touch of irony.

He sensed movement near his head, and soon the dark, fuzzy outline of a mask descended on him. He could faintly feel Hawkeye's hand grasping his as a quiet hiss behind him signaled the anesthesia being turned on.

Every second seemed like a year. His eyes held fast to his friend's; fear and unspoken words ran thickly between them as he watched Hawkeye fade to black.

* * *

Pierce waited until B.J. went under before dashing off to the scrub room, nearly colliding with an occupied table on the way. Colonel Potter knew exactly what the surgeon was thinking and headed after him, motioning for Winchester to follow. Charles asked his nurse to finish for him and accompanied the colonel through the scrub room doors. 

They found Hawkeye vigorously washing his arms and face at the sink, his discarded mask a few feet away on the floor. A dangerous silence draped the air around him. "Pierce..." Potter began gently, but an abrupt, dismissive wave from the surgeon stopped him cold. He and Charles exchanged glances, then it was the major's turn to try. "Ah...Pier—Hawkeye...you've done what you can for him. You should allow yourse—"

"Shut up, Charles." Hawkeye's voice was calm and too controlled, a hint of menace lying just beneath the surface. He dried his hands and started changing into fresh scrubs.

"Pierce." Potter was more insistent this time. "You just went through one hell of a mess back there, we can all see that. It might be a better idea if you took this shift off. I'm sure Winchester will do all he can, and right now he's a lot more level-headed than you."

Hawkeye didn't respond. He didn't even look at them as he tied a fresh mask around his neck, his mind still picturing B.J.'s frightened, trusting eyes. It was amazing how much confidence he had seen in those eyes; it was far more trust than he put in himself right now, and that's what scared him. When he was finished changing, he turned in their direction. "I've been living in this nightmare for over a week, Colonel," he said finally, bringing the mask up around his face. "I have to see it through."

Potter raised an eyebrow. "What?" He shot a bewildered glance at Charles, who momentarily looked away as memories surfaced of the previous night. Words drifted back to him as he remembered bits and pieces of the conversation his bunkmates had held, which only left him even more confused.

"Go ask Sidney," Hawkeye snarled as he started into the O.R. Charles blocked him, placing a gentle but firm hand on his arm. "Think about what you're doing, Pierce," he said quietly. "You are actually considering going in there and operating on your best friend. No one, not even you, can handle such a tremendous amount of pressure. The colonel is absolutely right."

Hawkeye glared at him icily, silent and unblinking. The roiling mass of emotions swirling in his blue eyes actually frightened the major, shocking him into silence. Certainly he had seen such a violent expression before, but never on the man standing before him. He stared back, resisting the gut reaction to shrink away. They stood locked in a standoff, listening to the clock on the wall ticking louder each second. Charles finally glanced at Potter, obviously unsure what to do.

The colonel stared long and hard at Pierce. He didn't like what he saw, and would have normally confined a man with such a wild look to his tent under sedation. At the same time, he realized no man alive would be able to hold the surgeon back from the operating room, and didn't want to add Winchester to the list of casualties as he was run over by the Hawkeye Express. He waved Charles out of the man's path, saying, "All right, Pierce. Just be care—"

Hawkeye had already left, the doors swinging in his wake. Glancing at Winchester, Potter said somberly, "Go help him, and for God's sake let me know if either of you need my assistance." Charles nodded and slipped through the doors.

* * *

He didn't know how long the darkness had surrounded him. He could hear what sounded like water rushing nearby, and wished he could turn his head to see what it was. Voices drifted through his mind, but he wasn't sure if anyone was really there or if they were just memories. 

It was lonely in the darkness. He hoped the pain would just stop long enough to let him think clearly...

A pinpoint of light hovered just beyond his nose, darting in and out of reach like a firefly. A cold breeze passed over him, which he thought strange considering it was such a blistering hot day. He focused on the dancing light, discovering the breeze would get warmer every time it drew closer to him. He reached out to it, watching it grow larger with every breath. Soon it enveloped him, chasing away the unwelcome darkness.

He found himself suddenly standing in the O.R., watching everyone working around him. He saw Hawkeye, his face strained and sweating as he operated on the patient before him. Confused, B.J. opened his mouth to ask what had happened.

Then he looked down and saw himself lying on the table.


	9. Burning Down

**Thank you to all who have reviewed the story so far. More are welcome.**

**Warning: there are some mildly graphic depictions of surgery in this chapter.**

* * *

_Uh-oh. _

B.J. observed his body laid open on the operating table. Hawkeye and Charles were standing over it, their scrubs drenched in his blood. A slight itch in the back of his mind told him there was something very wrong about this scene.

He knew he should have been frightened, but the sight was more surreal than anything else. _Is that really my lung? That can't be good. _He stared down in detached fascination as Hawkeye worked silently, pausing only to ask Margaret for suction or a clamp. Looking around the operating room, B.J. saw Colonel Potter working at the next table, glancing up every now and then to watch Pierce carefully.

The entire room was silent, something B.J. wasn't used to. The colors seemed strange, too—worn out and darker than they should be, like everything was behind a filmy glass. Even his own blood was a little faded.

And there was something else. He squinted hazily, trying to figure out what it was. Why was it so difficult to think?

Then it hit him: it was an overpowering odor. Sweet, musky and rank. It filled the O.R., spilling out in all directions. He recognized it in an instant—it was the smell of death. It clogged the air, making each breath a chore. He looked around, but to his amazement no one seemed to notice it. _How is that possible? The whole place reeks of it! _He shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around the realization. Is this really what the camp smelled like? How could _anyone_ stay sane when the scent of death was all around them, clinging to their clothes like stale cigar smoke? More importantly, why didn't anyone notice it?

* * *

"His pressure's dropping, Captain," the nurse monitoring B.J.'s vital signs said suddenly. "Sixty over forty."

Pierce grit his teeth. "Get another unit of whole blood. _Now,_" he added peevishly, delicately pulling one of B.J.'s ribs out of the way to expose the damage underneath. Flashes of his nightmare taunted him at every turn, blending with the images of the real nightmare he was living right now. He forced the visions away and concentrated on putting his friend's organs back together. "More suction—I can't see a damn thing." Margaret carried out his order and wiped his forehead, holding her breath along with everyone else.

"No pulse." The nurse's voice was subdued, almost inaudible.

Without thinking (or even looking), Hawkeye grabbed an empty bottle of blood and hurled it across the room, hearing it shatter—which is exactly how he felt. He knew _something _had to break before he did. Except for a cry of surprise from one of the spectators as they dodged the flying container, no one said a word.

Pierce removed a clamp and started massaging his friend's heart, trying to ignore the nauseating feeling associated with such an invasive act. He wanted to scream, to curse B.J. for leaving camp, but all intelligent sounds failed him. With every compression, he could swear he felt the edges of his already questionable sanity dissolving. How the hell could this happen to his best friend when he'd spent the last week trying to avoid it? _I could have stopped it...God, why didn't I stop it? _His own heart started to constrict every time he squeezed, and his breath faltered.

_Hang in there, Beej. If you don't make it, I may not be far behind. _

* * *

B.J. ducked instinctively when the bottle flew across the room, even though he knew he was in no danger—relatively speaking. He saw the toll it was taking on Hawkeye, wishing there was something he could do. Then again, how could he help when he didn't even know what was going on?

He turned away from the scene to see the light that had pulled him from the darkness pulsing softly just outside the O.R. doors, vibrant and glowing. It was an almost cheerful sight, especially when contrasted with the horror and stench of death inside the room. Curious, he took a step closer to it, only to find the people around him fading out of focus. Another step and even his body seemed more distant to him, lying on the table so far away—like it belonged to someone else.

That's when he realized what was happening. _Oh, damn, _he thought. This hadn't been in his plans at all. The only thing he'd wanted to do was finish his tour of duty and get back to California, spending the rest of his life with the woman he loved, raising a beautiful daughter...and now with a single explosion all that was going to be ruined. _I'm sorry Peg...I only wish you could have been with me when I left. _

He took another step, the pulsing light growing brighter. _Erin, I'll always love you—I hope you know that. _ Another step and he was at the threshold. The light streamed underneath the O.R. doors, enveloping his legs like a warm blanket. _I'm sure Hawk will tell you that over and over as you grow up. _He smiled at the thought, then stopped in his tracks.

_Hawk._

He glanced back, squinting through the light to see his friend still performing chest compressions in silence, and felt a distant pain. Hawkeye didn't deserve this, and he knew the man was going to blame himself when it was all over. Stepping back from the doorway, he moved closer to get a better view of Pierce as he worked.

The exhaustion on Hawkeye's face was obvious, stirring a vague twinge of guilt. Leaning closer, he could hear the surgeon whispering softly, even though no else seemed to notice it. He strained to hear the words: "God, Beej...don't give up like this, don't leave me here, damn it...I can't do it..." Pierce's eyes held an eerie light, wild and desperate; they reminded B.J. of the way he looked the night before, trapped within his dream.

B.J. hesitated as he watched the unconcealed panic in his friend's eyes. Just how _would _Hawkeye get through this? The man didn't look so well himself.

He tentatively reached a hand out towards his friend. _You'll be okay, Hawk, _he thought. _Even if it doesn't feel like it right now. _

He was surprised when his hand actually connected with Hawkeye's shoulder. He was even more surprised when he felt a jolt of electricity spark between them with enough force to throw him across the room.

_I don't want to be alone. _The terrified, pain-wracked phrase echoed in his mind as he hit the floor, reeling from the impact. He couldn't explain it—he didn't think anyone could. For a single moment, in that brief touch he could physically _feel _the emotions churning inside Hawkeye as though they were his own. He felt the anguish that stretched far beyond what even he thought capable for his friend. It was crushing him, scattering his thoughts in ten different directions until he couldn't breathe. His chest hurt, badly; he'd never felt such chaos.

Through it all, that single thought kept repeating itself, bouncing off countless other fears and rambling streams of consciousness. The raw misery wrapped up in those six tiny words was overwhelming, sweeping through his mind with dark, chilling tendrils. Clearly, Hawkeye was miles from "okay". _Dear God...is this how he feels all the time? _

He sat up slowly, and realized he was trembling.

* * *

Pierce was still massaging B.J.'s heart when an icy hand gripped his shoulder. He jumped, then swore loudly. "Whoever stuck their hand in the refrigerator just to grab me is begging to have a hemostat shoved up their nose for an old-fashioned lobotomy!" he snapped furiously, never missing a compression.

Colonel Potter had finished his patient and was busy observing Hawkeye and Charles as they operated. "No one touched you, son," he said gently, but Pierce had already gone back to work. Potter shot a sideways glance in Sidney's direction; the psychiatrist had been standing off in the corner, watching the procedure with a pensive expression. Their eyes met, and a silent understanding passed between them.

After a lifetime, Hawkeye felt B.J.'s heart move on its own accord. One beat, then—slowly—another. His brow creased and he stopped, watching it closely. Had he just imagined it?

Another beat. Pierce's own heart was in his throat. _Come on..._

The nurse's voice broke into his silent prayer. "BP's sixty-five over forty."

"You've gotta do better than that, Beej," he muttered. The heart started beating at regular intervals, but was sluggish. Seizing the opportunity, he asked Margaret for more suction followed by 4-0 silk and stitched the gaping wounds. There was still so much to do, but at least the hemorrhaging would be stopped, giving the internal organs a chance to recover. "Vitals?"

"Pulse thirty-seven. Pressure's the same," came the response.

_Damn it. _He finished removing the shrapnel from B.J.'s arm and shoulder before letting out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. A tremor of fatigue ran through him, but he did his best to hide it.

Charles wasn't fooled. "We've done what we can for the moment," he said softly, watching Hawkeye in the same manner the colonel had done earlier. "The day is catching up to you. Perhaps it's best if you let Margaret close...you've been through quite an ordeal."

"Not as bad as him," Hawkeye replied tiredly, not budging from the table. "No one else touches him—no offense, Margaret." The woman's eyes mirrored his weariness, but she nodded understandingly.

Pierce finished closing, and the crowd slowly dispersed as B.J. was whisked into post-op. He stripped off his gloves, which were soaked in his friend's blood—a fact he couldn't dismiss no matter how hard he tried. He had just seen far more of B.J than he'd ever expected or wanted to.

_And it still might not be enough._ Leaning heavily against the table, the fatigue he'd been holding back swept through him unchecked. His adrenaline rush was rapidly replaced by utter exhaustion, threatening to drop him where he stood.

Another hand touched his shoulder, this time warm and soft. He glanced up to find Charles watching him with uncharacteristic concern. "Get some rest, Pierce," the major told him, trying to hide his own fatigue. "There aren't many more patients here, and you're in no condition to operate."

"Is that an order?" Hawkeye countered, too drained to think of anything remotely witty.

"If it isn't, I'll make it one," Colonel Potter chimed in, coming over to scrutinize him. "Go hit the sack, Captain. You're no use to us here."

Pierce shook his head numbly, his empty gaze fixed on the door B.J. had been taken through. "I can't. I have to see...he might—the pressure's not...besides, I'll just..." he trailed off, realizing he wasn't making sense. But through his deadened senses he could still feel the sharp jab of fear associated with the very thought of going to sleep, and planned on fighting his weariness every step of the way.

Potter motioned to Margaret, who untied Pierce's mask and slipped a hand behind the harrowed surgeon's back. "Come on, Captain," she said softly. "We'll wake you if there's any change." She led him away from the table as another patient was loaded onto it, Hawkeye still protesting.

"You don't get it, Margaret," he mumbled miserably. They passed by Sidney as he spoke, but Pierce didn't notice him. "If I sleep I'm only gonna see him again. If I stay awake I won't have to worry about it..." He continued rambling aimlessly as a confused Margaret helped him stagger out of the O.R.

Sidney watched the exchange quietly, his arms folded in thought. When they left, the colonel came up to him discreetly. "Do you mind sticking around a while?" Potter asked in a sotto voice. "I'm keeping the home fires burning for B.J., but if—God forbid—something were to happen, I get the impression he's not the only surgeon I'd lose."

"Certainly, Colonel," Sidney assured him in his practiced neutral tone. He removed his mask, still lost in thought, and headed out of the room. Potter rubbed the back of his aching neck; even after all his years in the Army, it never ceased to amaze him how so much could go so wrong in a single day.

"All right, let's finish up," he said gruffly, trying to push the disturbing images of his two surgeons, each fighting for life in their own way, far from his mind.


	10. Heat Exhaustion

**Thank you all for the reviews.** ** As always, more are welcome.**

* * *

Outside the surgical tent, Margaret managed to capture a corpsman to help her drag Hawkeye back to his tent, resisting all the way. He kept telling her he didn't want to see B.J. when he closed his eyes as though that meant something, but she chalked it up to fatigue and stress. 

She waved the corpsman out of the tent and helped remove Pierce's bloodied scrubs. "If there's any change, you'll be the first to know," she told him. He pulled away from her, watching B.J.'s cot despondently. Margaret bit her lip; he looked so lonely, so _lost _it made her heart ache. Kneeling next to him, she brushed back the hair plastered to his face with sweat and rubbed his back soothingly. "He'll be all right, Hawkeye," she told him, purposely keeping the doubt out of her voice. "You did your best for him—don't ever forget that. I've never seen anyone work so tirelessly. It's bound to come out okay."

"Thanks, Margaret," Hawkeye replied absently, not really hearing her. _How could I have let him leave camp? What's wrong with me? I could have stopped it..._

Margaret didn't like the look in his eyes. "Why don't you get some rest?" She helped him lie back in bed as she continued, "Captain Hunnicut will have someone watching him around the clock. You can take the watch when you're able."

"I'm not tired," Pierce murmured automatically, his eyes closing the second his head hit the pillow. Margaret watched him sleep for a minute, listening to the uneasy silence that had settled over the entire camp outside. With a final, silent glance at B.J.'s bunk, she slipped out of the tent to let the surgeon rest.

For the next three hours Hawkeye's body was in bed, but his mind kept wandering back to the operating room. Countless times he stood over B.J., trying to stop the bleeding. No matter how many wounds he closed, more would appear almost instantly. Blood bubbled up from everywhere.

He remembered his friend's eyes watching him with so much trust. _And where is that trust now? _Doubt cast its warped light on his delirious memory, transforming the quiet confidence in B.J.'s eyes to hatred and silent accusation. He cringed and tried to turn away from the loathsome gaze, immobilized by guilt. The floor opened beneath him to reveal a yawning, pitch black abyss, and he scrambled back to avoid falling in. Slender black filaments reached out from the void, wrapping themselves around him like sinister, shadowy pythons. They dragged him closer to the hellish opening, B.J.'s cold, furious stare bearing down on him. Through it all a single thought lodged itself in the back of his mind: _I killed him. _

He awoke with a violent twitch, not certain if he'd ever really gone to sleep. Slowly unclenching his shaking hands, he wiped the sweat and tears from his eyes. His throat felt raw, but he didn't remember screaming. B.J.'s cot loomed in the corner, a silent witness to his paranoia.

Hawkeye rubbed his palms together and stared blankly into the distance, rocking ever so slightly back and forth. He could still feel the phantasmal strands caressing his legs, trying to pull him into the darkness. A new wave of panic and restlessness forced him to stand, swaying a little. He had to get out of there.

Pushing back the door he stumbled into the compound, traces of blood and dirt still clinging to him. Had anyone looked at him without knowing the reason, they would have assumed he was merely drunk and just came from the wrong end of a bar brawl. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he wandered unsteadily around the camp as the world went by in a blur. He knew he should sleep, but part of him wondered if he wasn't asleep already.

After a while, his feet seemed to move of their own accord to the post-op ward. He stood outside for a long time, just watching the doors. Two corpsmen who had been loitering nearby edged away from the surgeon, spooked by his appearance and glassy expression. Taking a deep breath, he opened the doors and stepped through.

Having been filled beyond capacity before the influx of patients from the 8063rd, post-op now seemed more like a refugee camp than a restful place to recuperate. Gurneys doubled as beds for those with minor wounds, while a full complement of nurses flew back and forth to check on the more serious casualties. The heat only made the crowded ward more uncomfortable, shortening even the most placid tempers. Overwhelmed, Hawkeye swallowed hard and tried to ignore the urge to run.

He trudged down the cramped aisle, noticing a bed in the corner of the room that had been cordoned off for a greater degree of privacy. A nurse sat just inside the divider, taking notes on a clipboard and glancing up occasionally. Pierce stopped short, knowing instantly who the bed's occupant was.

Colonel Potter entered and saw Hawkeye standing in the middle of the bedlam, hands in his pockets, looking strangely out of place. "Pierce, what are you doing up and about?" he asked. Noting the man's sweat-slicked face and blank stare, he added, "I thought I gave you a direct order to get some shut-eye."

"You did, Colonel, my eyes are just insubordinate," Hawkeye responded distantly, not acknowledging (or realizing) the joke. He stepped closer to the bed in the corner, but Potter stopped him. "He needs his rest and so do you. Go back to bed, catch a few hundred winks, and come back when you're actually with us. You can see B.J. then."

Hawkeye chuckled darkly—a strange, guttural sound that worried the colonel. "You don't get it," he said, his gaze fixed on the divider. "I see him already. Asleep or awake, what difference does it make?"

Potter scrutinized him silently for a long moment. "All right," he relented, stepping back, "but don't let word get out that I'm going soft in my old age. Besides, this might be better therapy for you than sewing you to your bedsheets for the next week." Hawkeye pushed past the older man unceremoniously into the makeshift room, stopping abruptly at the sight before him.

A bandage covered half of B.J.'s face where flying metal had ripped it open, numerous cuts and bruises marring the other half. His chest and left arm were expertly wrapped, hiding the stitches—stitches _he _had placed—beneath. IV tubes trailed across his bed, reminding Pierce of the phantom tendrils that tried to suffocate him earlier.

He watched his friend's breathing like he'd done for so many nights; what used to be a visible and steady rhythm was barely discernible now. And he was so _quiet_...that's what bothered Hawkeye the most. At that moment the only thing in the world he wanted was to hear B.J. say something,_ anything_, instead of just lying there like...

_A corpse. _Hawkeye shut his eyes tightly for a second. "How's he doing?" he finally asked the nurse.

"Pulse forty-six, BP seventy-five over fifty," she responded, a note of sympathy in her voice. She quickly vacated her stool for a grateful Pierce, who looked ready to collapse any second. With an understanding glance in Potter's direction she left to find another patient.

Sensing his need for privacy the colonel turned to leave, but Hawkeye's voice brought him to a halt: "What happens now?" The question seemed innocent, but Potter could plainly hear the apprehension lurking behind it. He realized they both knew the answer, but vocalized it for the other man's benefit. "Well, depending on when he pulls through this," he winced slightly, hearing how false the word _when _sounded, "maybe nothing. He'll recover here. Otherwise, we'll wait until he's more stable and send him to the 121st Evac, where he'll catch the next plane back to the states." The third, more final option went unmentioned.

He saw various emotions flickering across Pierce's face, none of them actually reaching the surface. "He wouldn't have even made it this far if you hadn't run after him," Potter added gently, curiosity creeping into his voice. "Damnedest thing I ever saw. How did you know, son?"

Pierce's expression made Potter's skin crawl. "I had practice," he responded dully, as though the answer explained everything. The colonel's eyebrow shot upward, but Pierce stood and dragged his stool closer to B.J.'s bed, settling heavily into it again; he was obviously through with speaking. Potter observed the two men wordlessly, watching them each fight their private battles, before tactfully retreating to the other side of post-op.

Hawkeye's hand hovered over the bed before coming to rest on B.J.'s arm. His head fell back against the wall, his eyes closing on their own accord. Even as darkness descended on him, he feared the menacing images approaching behind his eyelids with every breath.


	11. Revelation

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* * *

Some time later, Hawkeye awoke abruptly and almost fell off the stool, forgetting where he was. He grabbed onto B.J.'s bed to steady himself, then glanced up to find Sidney watching him silently. The psychiatrist had found a chair and was sitting in the opposite corner of the makeshift room. "How long have you been here?" he asked, almost accusingly. 

"Not long. I'm sorry if I woke you."

Pierce peered at him through hazy eyes. "I was asleep?" he asked.

Sidney wasn't sure if that was a joke or not, so he answered cautiously, "You seemed to be, though it looked like you were uncomfortable." That was an understatement: Hawkeye had actually been writhing as though in pain, but Sidney had been reluctant to wake him, having witnessed the man's punch-drunk behavior earlier.

Hawkeye shifted his gaze to the floor, lost in thought. Every muscle in his body ached, the only sensation that registered above the faint ringing in his head. Sidney could see the dramatic change from the man he had seen earlier that day, and mentally ran through several different scenarios to figure out how he should approach the situation.

To his surprise, Pierce took the opening gambit. "I couldn't do it, Sidney."

"What's that?"

"I should've stopped him. None of this would have happened."

"This isn't your fault, you know. If you remember, you were with me when he was called away."

"Then why the _hell _did I see it in my dreams every night?" Pierce asked sharply, glancing up to meet his eyes. "I've been losing what few shreds of rationality I have left over that nightmare, and he still got hurt."

Sidney sighed. "The mind can be a funny thing, Hawkeye. What you experienced is unusual, but not unheard of. Part of you sensed your friend was in danger, but you couldn't tell when or where. You can't be held responsible for that."

"Tell that to him," Pierce replied sullenly, watching B.J.'s bruised, bandaged face. "God, he must hate me."

"Why, because you did everything you could to save him?"

"Because it didn't change anything."

Sidney leaned forward and gestured in B.J.'s direction. "How do you know? Your dream had him dying out there on the road. The fact he's still here speaks volumes about your efforts. Why would he hate you for that?"

"'Cause I can see it in his face every time I close my eyes," Hawkeye responded tiredly, and Sidney instantly understood. "And that's why you still can't sleep, even though you're obviously beyond exhausted."

Pierce nodded faintly, his eyes still trained on B.J. "I have nightmares when I sleep, and when I'm awake I'm living in the middle of another one. Which one's real?" He rubbed a hand across his eyes and tried unsuccessfully to hold back a yawn. "I don't even have B.J. here to tell me I'm overreacting and to go back to sleep."

"I wouldn't say that," Sidney said mildly. "He's here now—there's no better time to talk."

"It's not the same, and you know it," Pierce growled.

"Maybe not, but it sounds like there's a lot you've been wanting to say to him," Sidney countered calmly, standing up. "I think I'll leave you to get it off your mind—literally. And don't punish yourself over this. If I know anything about B.J., watching you fall apart would only hurt him more." This drew a startled glance from Hawkeye, who opened his mouth for a rebuttal but came up empty.

Glancing briefly at B.J., Sidney turned and left. Pierce called out behind him, "Sidney..." The psychiatrist peered back around the divider to see a reluctant but thankful expression on the surgeon's face. The unfinished sentence hung in the air, and Sidney smiled at him before exiting.

Hawkeye glanced down at B.J.'s silent figure, suddenly self-conscious. His palms started sweating, and he found himself standing abruptly to pace the small area in front of the bed. The dull roar of a bustling post-op lurked just beyond the divider, adding to his nerves. He picked up the clipboard at the foot of the bed to read the man's recent vital signs: his pulse had improved, but his blood pressure was still dangerously low. Potter's words about the 121st Evac came back to him, and he found himself blinking back tears—though he simply attributed it to exhaustion.

Realizing he was stalling, he rolled his eyes and sat down again. "This is insane," he declared. "How long have I known you, and I'm acting like I'm in high school about to ask you out on a date." He inhaled sharply, ignoring the stabbing pain in his lungs when he did. "I guess I just don't know what to say, Beej. 'I'm sorry'?"

He glanced down at B.J., unnerved by the silence. "I just wish you had told me before you left. By now we'd both be in our bunks, sampling the latest batch of newly brewed happy water, you reading your latest letter from Peg while I filled Charles' fountain pen with coffee and short-sheeted his bed..." he trailed off, half-expecting a reaction from his friend. Finding none, he looked away again.

Conflicting emotions warred inside him, and his sleep-deprived brain struggled to put feelings into words. "God, I'm sorry. You didn't deserve this. It should have been me—at least I don't have a wife and kid to take care of." His gaze drifted to the ceiling. _Why is this so hard? _

When he spoke again, he leaned a little closer to B.J., his voice quiet. "Y'know, the truth is, when I first started having the nightmare..." He paused, unsure whether he wanted to continue.

_Well, I've gone this far... _"I'd like to say you were the first person I was concerned for. But I can't. My first thought was that you were going to leave me in this Hell on earth—alone." A small, sad chuckle escaped his lips. "I was too busy feeling sorry for myself—how's that for selfish? You're the one that gets hurt, and all I can think about is being left behind."

Tears sprang to his eyes again, but he kept them at bay as he continued, "When Trapper was here, I thought I had it all figured out. In some ways I think he was even crazier than me, but I could always count on him to pull me back from the brink. As long as we were stuck in this place, at least we were stuck here together." A shadow of a smile crossed his face, disappearing as fast as it came.

"Then he left...no letter, no goodbye, just a second-hand kiss from an embarrassed corporal...and I was alone." He studied B.J.'s features as he spoke. "I dunno if you realized it at the time, but when I saw you at Kimpo after learning I'd missed him by _ten minutes_, you were the last person I wanted to meet."

His voice caught in his throat, but he kept going. "I was still smarting from his..."

_Betrayal... _

"...departure, and wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone. If our jeep hadn't been stolen, I probably wouldn't have said a word to you the whole trip back here. I was mad at him for not saying goodbye, and mad at you for taking his place."

Leaning back on the stool, he thought back to that day as though everything had just happened an hour ago. "It was never Trapper's fault, of course. After all, he had a family too. And knowing him, he probably thought I wouldn't care about a letter. I just felt...abandoned, I guess. Left to face the horrors here by myself. I really didn't think I would last much longer." He paused again, pushing back the fear that had crept into his voice.

"Between him leaving and Henry's—" Unbidden tears fought their way to the surface. "Let's just say I had convinced myself I wasn't going to make it. When you arrived and I saw how unprepared you were, I wasn't too sure if you would, either." He smiled distantly at the memory. "You adapted pretty fast, though. The shock of this place can bring out the best in some people. Can bring out the worst, too, as Frank liked to demonstrate whenever he could."

Oppressive heat permeated the area, pulling Hawkeye towards sleep, but he shrugged it off. "Looking back on it, I think you realized how much I was hurting. It's hard to hide your bad days from a roommate, y'know? I never got the chance to tell you how much your efforts to make things easier meant to me. There were times when just you listening to me ramble was enough to keep me from doing things I'd regret."

Suddenly uncomfortable, he looked down at the floor and fidgeted. After a minute, he said hesitantly, "I don't think there's anyone else I've been this close to—or want to be. If I had a brother, I'd...like to think he would have been like you." He cleared his throat awkwardly, deliberately avoiding looking at B.J.

"Then...when you got hurt...and I lost—when your heart st..." his voice cracked, and he paused to compose himself. After a long moment he inhaled deeply, ignoring the trembling in his hands. "All those feelings I buried came back. It was like being abandoned all over again," he finished hoarsely.

He listened to the sounds in post-op just beyond the divider as the world moved on around them. "The whole time in surgery I was thinking of you, of your family...but what kept coming back to me was the realization I'd be alone again. I hate myself for it, but there it is. Sidney made me realize how much I count on your particular brand of sanity to maintain my own, and I was terrified of losing that. Of losing you." _I still am. _

"And the nightmares still won't leave me alone..." he fell silent, burying his face in his hands and rubbing his temples painfully. For a long moment, he almost wished the floor _would _swallow him up—at least his body wouldn't ache so much. He could feel the guilt snaking its way around him, tearing at him with its poisonous claws...

"I get them, too."

Hawkeye raised his head to see who had come in, but didn't find anyone. Inch by inch, he turned to look at B.J.—and found the man peering at him through half-closed eyes. "What?" he asked, too stunned to say anything else.

"Nightmares. I get them too."

Pierce stared blankly at his friend, frozen by the flood of impulses rushing through his brain at breakneck speed: he wanted to cheer, to go tell a nurse, to hug B.J., to yell at him for running off without saying anything. The only impulse that made it through all the confusion was a single question: "What do you do?"

"I wake up and look around. I see Charles asleep in his bed, you in yours...and I realize that, at least for the moment, everything's okay."

"Really?" Hawkeye felt a grin spreading that threatened to break his face. "Does it work?"

"Usually." B.J. observed him quietly for a long moment. "Hawk?"

"Yeah?"

"You look horrible."

A laugh exploded from Hawkeye, releasing days of pent-up frustration. It reverberated through post-op, causing a startled silence. He immediately sobered as a thought struck him: "Wait a minute. How much of that did you hear?" B.J. didn't answer, but the expression on his face was clear: _enough_.

Pierce hugged him gently, caught somewhere between elation and acute embarrassment. "I have to go tell the colonel. Wait here. Just hold—what am I saying? Of course you're gonna wait here, where else would you go?" he babbled, still grinning madly. He stood up, week-long fatigue lifting from his shoulders. "You have no idea how much you worried us, Beej. I thought I lost you on the table—I had to go into your chest to keep your heart beating."

"Yeah, I know," B.J. murmured. It hurt too much to chuckle at his friend's confused expression, so he settled for a small smile before his expression turned serious. "I'm sorry."

"_You're_ s—for what? You didn't do anything! Go blame the Army for making their jeeps out of giant flammable Erector Sets!" Hawkeye sat on the edge of his bed, looking at him curiously. B.J. continued watching him, waiting for the words to sink in.

Pierce suddenly realized what his friend meant. "Oh..." He blushed—a true rarity for him—and turned away for a second. "Yeah, well...I, uh...forget it. I didn't know you could actually hear me. I think I'll head to the O.R., so I can have my foot surgically removed from my mouth." B.J. smiled again, causing a deep cut on his face to protest.

Pierce noticed the wince. "Hey, no smiling until those cuts heal. Especially not at my expense." He gazed at his friend, relief gradually replacing the horror he'd felt all week. Finally, he reached over and gently squeezed the man's good arm. "Welcome back, Beej," he said softly, before standing up.

As he walked out, he heard B.J. say, "Thanks, Hawk...for everything." The words stopped him cold as he recalled them from his nightmare. Glancing back to see B.J. in bed, weakened but alive, he greatly preferred this version. "Have your wife send something homemade and we'll call it even."

B.J. grinned, then winced again. "What did I just say?" Hawkeye admonished in mock exasperation, trying to hide a smile of his own.

"Sorry, Doc," B.J. replied, doing his best to look contrite. "By the way...I thought you were exaggerating before. Was it really only ten minutes?"

Hawkeye blinked at him, dumbstruck._ Damn...how much **did** he hear? _The thought must have shown on his face, because he caught a mischievous twinkle in B.J.'s eyes. Exhaling loudly, he said, "The next time Sidney has a brilliant idea, he can keep it to himself. I'm gonna go now, before I start divulging any other deep, dark secrets. You get some rest. I'll send a nurse in your direction—after picking one up for myself. I think I need an ego transfusion." He shook his head and walked away, leaving B.J. to chuckle painfully to himself.

That night, Hawkeye slept.


	12. Cooling Breezes

**I'd like to thank everyone who made it all the way through this, and for all the reviews. A big thanks to "LoveNorbertTheDragon", whose video "Hawkeye's Nightmare" on YouTube inspired the story you just read. I have an idea for another fanfic in the future, but it may be some time before I can write it. I hope you've enjoyed this one; please let me know.**

* * *

The next eight weeks were filled with uncertainty as phone calls, telegrams and reports were tossed back and forth like a volleyball about B.J.'s future. At any given time, the official order was "send Captain Hunnicut to the 121st immediately", "Hunnicut is not to leave the 4077th", "who's Hunnicut?" and "the general wants to know what happened to his shipment of beef wellington". Colonel Potter threw his hands up more than once, telling Radar to wake him when the Army started making sense again. 

During that time Hawkeye stayed close to B.J., neither one mentioning his earlier speech. When post-op became less crowded he literally moved in next to his friend's cot, prompting everyone in camp to dub the ward the "new Swamp". Every moment Hawkeye didn't spend operating on patients (or nurses) he used for the sole purpose of making the man's recuperation more bearable. Soon chess pieces, cards and clothing were just as common a sight as IVs and plasma. By the time B.J. was well enough to move back to his own tent, Pierce had more belongings to pack than he did.

When B.J. was able to demonstrate his injuries didn't permanently affect his arm or hand, the decision arrived via telegram that the Army couldn't afford to lose a surgeon who could still "operate effectively" (to which Hawkeye promptly snorted and commented, "Leave it to the Army to drain the humanity out of a word like 'surgeon'.") He was ordered to stay at the 4077th for the remainder of his recovery, until such time that he could be put back on the duty roster. The news disappointed him; he could already feel the warm glow of tiny, sticky toddler hands wrapping themselves around his neck when he was informed of the decision. The promise of a purple heart did nothing to improve his mood, and he found himself sinking into melancholy every time he looked at the picture of his family.

Hawkeye sensed the man's depression and did his best to cheer him up. He asked B.J. to read his wife's letters out loud a few more times than usual—not nearly as interested in the letters themselves as he was in seeing the pain leave his friend's eyes, even temporarily. Every time it seemed discouragement was descending again, he found something—_anything—_to chase it away, no matter how crazy it seemed. Potter let the pair get away with more than he normally did (stopping them only when he heard they had rigged one side of the nurses' shower to fall at just the right moment), seeing the analeptic effect it was having on the injured doctor.

Hawkeye was genuinely sorry for B.J., and resented the Army for drafting family men who were so obviously devoted to non-military pursuits. Inside, however, he couldn't entirely smother a tiny ember of relief that B.J.'s cot wouldn't yet again change hands. That would have been two times it was vacated, while he was still stranded in a country he had only planned to see on a dusty globe. If B.J. knew of this secret solace, he never let on.

Following through on Pierce's request a package from Mill Valley arrived, filled with homemade pecan shortbread cookies and a letter from Peg thanking him for saving her husband's life. "I think I could get used to this," he said around a mouthful of shortbread. "A beautiful woman sending me gifts and letters...not to mention pecans and shortbread are heaven's recipe for a good time."

"I thought her chocolate chip were your favorite," B.J. remarked with a smile as he sat gingerly on his cot, watching Hawkeye devour another cookie.

"Well, her cookies are much better than her dutch apple crumb pie, I'll tell you that. And far better than any of those questionable delectables they call 'dessert' here. Besides, I'm allowed to have more than one favorite—I happen to be very complicated."

"Can't argue there. Being you for three seconds was more than I ever wanted to experience," B.J. said thoughtfully, recalling the demons he had witnessed—however briefly—trapped in his friend's mind. He noticed Hawkeye's baffled glance, but didn't think he had the energy (or words) to explain. The incident had changed him in a way, and he discovered he was more attuned to the shadows that would sometimes cross the man's face—having a deeper understanding of what lay behind them. As a result, he was much quicker to ask Pierce if he was okay and less inclined to brush such expressions off as a passing mood.

"With cookies like this, it's no wonder you married her." Their eyes met in mid-munch, surprising them both. Hawkeye swallowed hard, realizing now was as good a time as any to ask the question that had been plaguing him. "Beej...can I ask you something?"

"As long as you don't talk with your mouth full."

"When I...you—on the table..." he stopped, clearly struggling; B.J. waited patiently. Hawkeye inhaled sharply, and the sentence came rushing out: "I was pumping your heart for so long I thought you'd given up. Not that I'm complaining, but...what made you come back?"

B.J. watched him for a long minute, debating how he should answer. His family meant the world to him, but as he had drawn closer to death they seemed so far away, so safe from any danger. He knew they would be all right. It was the sheer panic, the fear in his friend's eyes—the fear he had _felt—_that had shaken him back into reality. The haunting images and confused thoughts he experienced that day had never left him, and many times he found them invading his _own _dreams. He could only imagine what they did to Hawkeye.

"I don't know," he lied, prompting a suspicious squint from his friend. "Maybe it was the thought of missing martinis that can strip paint. Maybe it was your irresistible charm. How am I supposed to know?"

"Uh-huh," Pierce responded, not believing a word. B.J. smiled at his reaction, then grew solemn. "Thanks, Hawk."

"You've said that already."

"I mean it."

"I know." They stared at each other, exchanging silent words.

Finally, Hawkeye picked up another cookie and inspected it. "As long as your wife bakes like this, maybe I can keep you alive into the twenty-third century."

B.J. laughed. "I'll let her know you liked them. Maybe next month she can send chocolate chip." Pierce grinned rakishly in response and launched a cookie in his direction.

* * *

Several nights later, Hawkeye awoke suddenly, his heart pounding. He sat up shakily, trying to scrub blood-soaked images from his eyes and memory. He'd been working for over ten hours in the O.R. and discovered the bodies wouldn't stop coming, even in his sleep. Although the heat wave had finally broken, he found himself covered in sweat. 

The creaking cot roused B.J., who turned automatically towards the sound. Their eyes locked, and he could see immediately what had happened.

Hawkeye stared at B.J. silently, his breathing still erratic. Suddenly their earlier conversation came back to him: _" __I see Charles asleep in his bed, you in yours...and I realize that, at least for the moment, everything's okay." _His eyes flicked over to Charles' cot—sure enough, the major was fast asleep. Glancing back at his friend, he knew they could both tell what he was thinking. B.J. smiled understandingly, and Hawkeye relaxed. His breathing evened and he lay down again, drifting off.

At least for the moment, everything was okay.


End file.
